


Not Taken

by Gatejunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gatejunkie/pseuds/Gatejunkie
Summary: Sam wonders if the departure of Nareem means the loss of something good in her life
Kudos: 3





	Not Taken

Feeling achy and exhausted, Samantha Carter tucked a patchwork comforter around her legs before settling against the softness of her couch. A sigh escaped unnoticed as the last golden glimpse of westering sun sank behind the thick leaves of the maple tree in her yard. This day had been too long and wearing, unearthing a Pandora's box of memories she'd rather not face. Her emotions had rollercoastered from joy to fear to relief with a large dose of surprise and regret mixed in. Was Nareem happy with the Nox?

She hoped so. At least, he had Shroedinger to keep him company. Suddenly, the old Victorian house seemed too large, too empty. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen doorway. No little furry face with its cry of welcome met her, and the empty cat-food bowl on the floor seemed filled with condemnation. She blinked, her eyes suddenly burning with loss. _Grab hold of yourself, Samantha,_ her grandmother's whining voice said in her mind. _You're acting like one of those old maids who put all their love into their cats because they have no children. I told you to get married._

"Oh, be quiet," Sam muttered then bit her lip at the foolishness. Her grandmother lived miles away. Even if she were here and had spoken the words, her granddaughter's demand for quiet would have been met with more reminders of all the things she'd passed up. Grandmothers had plenty of ammunition and always knew the perfect time to use it.

Sam leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. The metronomic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner counted out seconds of solitude with a steady beat. Every passing minute brought her closer to a lonely old age. Why hadn't she accepted one of the offers of marriage?

_Because you were too busy proving yourself in your career,_ sniped the cold voice of truth in her thoughts.

"Alone," Sam muttered. Most of the time she enjoyed the quiet of her own company, but today the white walls pressed in close as if they would squeeze out whatever life remained in her. How much time had passed? Was she an elderly woman remembering a day long ago when she'd given her cat to another man who'd loved her and been sent away?

Gentle rapping on her front door made Sam's eyelids fly open. She glanced at the hands in her lap, expecting them to be wrinkled and covered with liver spots. Instead, her own unblemished skin mocked her fears.

A second spate of knocking sounded, accompanied by a concerned, "Sam?"

"Daniel?" she replied, pulling aside the coverlet to go to the door. Opening it, she inquired, "What are you doing here?"

The anthropologist gave a shrug and held up several brown bags. "Bringing you dinner?" he suggested hesitantly. "Unless, you don't like Chinese."

The savory scents of beef broccoli and chicken chowmein produced a growl from her stomach, reminding her it had been a long time since she'd eaten. "That answer your question?" she said with a smile.

"Good," Daniel's blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he brushed past her into the warmth of the living room, "'cause I'd really hate to force myself to eat all of this."

"I just bet you would," she teased, waving him to the couch as she stepped into her kitchen. Shroedinger's abandoned bowl pulled her gaze. She bit her lip and quickly turned away before the sense of loss swamped her again. "Can I get you something to drink?" she called.

"Anything would be fine."

"Milk or root beer?"

"Root beer."

"Sounds good to me." Sam filled a couple glasses with ice before grabbing two soda cans from the middle shelf of the fridge. When she returned to the living room, he was already unpacking the bags. She smiled at how he'd spread newspapers over the coffee table to protect its varnish. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods, bearing gifts no less?" she asked, handing him a glass and his drink.

He popped the top of his soda can. Foam fizzled around the opening, and he quickly slurped, avoiding a spill. Daniel looked over the rim of his glasses before glancing away. "Oh, you know how it is with Chinese food. You have to buy enough to feed several people if you want a decent variety."

"Why didn't you ask the colonel and Teal'c to join us?" Sam smiled. "We could have gotten almond chicken."

"They went to a hockey game." Daniel's fingers were busy unfolding the lids to several cartons.

"You didn't want to go?"

A tiny smile curved Sam's lips at his words. He was such a civilian. She picked up a carton and sniffed appreciatively at the tangy orange scent of the sweet-sour sauce. "This is good," she said after taking a bite of a bacon-wrapped morsel. "What is it?"

"Phoenix chicken," Daniel replied around a mouthful of eggroll. "You can only get it on Thursdays."

"You'll have to give me the address of the place. It's wonderful." Sam put the carton down and reached for another filled with fried rice. It was comforting sharing a meal with him like this—no fuss, no hurry and no worry hostiles would interrupt. They ate from whatever white box struck their fancy, being sure to leave enough for the other to enjoy like two siblings who thought the world of each other.

"Do you think Maybourne will cause trouble?"

A frown knit Sam's eyebrows at the hint of worry in his voice. "Probably," she nodded, "but General Hammond will fix it. The President trusts him. He'd have to to place him in charge of the SGC."

"I trust him too," Daniel told her with disarming honesty, "even though I think he could be as ruthless as General West if he had to."

"But not without a valid reason and after considering all sides."

"Yeah," he said with a nod, "but that's going to be cold comfort if we need him to get our butts out of a bind, and he can't."

Chewing slowly, she nodded, admitting the truth of his words. Sometimes the military hierarchy made decisions which seemed careless of the welfare of its personnel. It was one of the things she'd learned to live with during her career. _The career which cost you children and a husband?_

"Sam,…are you okay?"

With a blink, Sam looked into concerned blue eyes and smiled. He was so transparent. "So you came over tonight because you wanted a better selection of food?"

Licking his lips, Daniel searched his mind for a reply. How could he tell her the truth without making it sound like he pitied her when he didn't? "Ahhh…" he began.

Fond amusement warmed her eyes. Daniel resembled an adoring little brother who wanted to make sure his big sister was all right. "Did you expect me to kiss and tell?"

Consternation lined his forehead. "Of course not," he defended. "What happened between you and Nareem is private. I only…."

"Wanted to make sure I wasn't regretting letting him go," Sam finished for him.

"Well, uh…yeah." Embarrassment pinked his cheeks.

"Part of me does," she admitted, stirring the Kung Pao chicken with one chopstick, "but I didn't feel for him what he felt for me…"

"Not yet, anyway," Daniel prodded gently, knowing she had to face her emotions or there would be no peace.

She looked at his earnest face, so filled with concern for her happiness, and the cold feeling inside her stomach which she'd felt ever since Nareem had gone through the gate began to thaw. "In time, I probably could have felt more for him. We…"

"Fit?" Daniel supplied, the darkening of his blue eyes recalling the fact he too was haunted by a love he'd lost for now.

"Kinda. Nareem loved me for me," she began, "as if I didn't have to be anyone else. Do you know what I mean?"

Sadness turned his gaze away. "Yeah," he said softly, "I do."

"Sha're?"

"She was the only one who never expected me to be anything more than I was," Daniel admitted. "I didn't have to show off what I knew or pretend to fit in. Every time I tried, she laughed at me until I forgot myself and relaxed."

Longing filled Sam's face. She'd never had unconditional love in a relationship before. Perhaps if she had, the laughter of her children might be filling this empty house.

"A lot of good that did when Apophis came to Abydos…"

The self-hatred in his voice stiffened Sam's spine. She wouldn't allow anyone to abuse Daniel—not even himself. "You weren't responsible for the attack."

"No, just for unburying the gate," Daniel sniffed, poking at a piece of Phoenix chicken as if it were the serpent Goa'uld.

"We'll get her back, Daniel," Sam assured.

His thick eyelashes lifted, revealing deep pain in the blue eyes behind the glasses.

"I promise."

Something eased inside him, and a quiet spark lit the depths of his gaze. "I believe you," he said, "'cause Jack said the same thing. Neither one of you would lie to me."

_I hope I never have to,_ Sam prayed, knowing her position in the military and her higher security classification might make that impossible. She smiled nervously and concentrated on chewing rice.

Daniel watched her, recognizing the evasion by silence for what it was. Sometimes he forgot she could be as military as Jack. He searched for a way to break the awkward hush which lay between them. "Are you going to get another cat?"

"I don't think so," she admitted with a sigh. "I'd like to but the program takes up a lot of my time. It really wasn't fair to Shroedinger when I had to have the neighbors watch him."

"Yeah, kinda like letting your kids be raised by the babysitter."

The words stabbed a mental wound. Sadness flashed across Sam's face. Would she ever get a chance to find out?

"I-I'm sorry." Daniel said, not knowing what he'd done but wanting to make it better.

"Don't mind me. My biological clock got ticking today, and I keep forgetting to hit the snooze alarm."

He smiled. "You've got lots of time for kids."

She shrugged. "I don't know. By the time I get around to having any, the plumbing will probably no longer work."

"You're smart enough to figure out a way to cheat nature if it comes down to that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Any time."

Hating to bring the subject up but really wanting to know, Sam asked, "Did you and Sha're ever talk about having kids?"

Assaulted by a bitter sense of loss, he looked away. "She wanted to. I didn't."

"Why?" Sam couldn't imagine him not wanting children. His gentle manner suggested he'd be a natural with them.

"Because I wouldn't be a good father."

"Of course you would."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. My parents…" he blanched, the memory obviously painful.

Sam placed a comforting hand on his arm.

Pulling himself away from some bleak mental image, Daniel shook his head. "I wasn't around long enough to really get to know any of my foster folks. When they found out how much trouble I was, they got rid of me."

Anger at the injustice made Sam's eyes snap. "Then, they missed out. I'm sure you were a terrific kid."

"If you like one who sneezed and got sick a lot."

" **You** wouldn't hold that against a child."

"No," he admitted, "but I understand why they did. A lot of foster parents have just enough money to tolerate another mouth in their homes. They can't afford a sickly runt who pesters them with questions."

Her brow unconsciously furrowed. How many adults had left scars on this kind man? Sam shook her head. Daniel was too forgiving, too eager to accept blame as if he was somehow responsible for other people's rotten behavior. She swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the knot which wanted to tangle her words. "I think," she began on a husky whisper, then cleared her throat, "I think you'd make a terrific dad." Before he could deny it, she placed her fingertips on his arm to halt his refute. "If only because you learned what not to do from your foster parents."

A flush brightened the tips of his ears as he glanced away. "It's a moot point now anyway," Daniel sighed, "at least until we find the means to help Sha're."

Sam wanted to pinch herself for the misery on his face. He'd come here to cheer her up, and she'd only succeeded in bringing him down. "Need any more root beer?" she asked to distract his bleak thoughts.

He returned from the mental abyss with a blink. "No," he smiled. "Do you want the rest of the Phoenix chicken?"

"I'm stuffed," she shook her head, "go ahead." As he eagerly plundered the carton for the last few bites, Sam grinned at the mental image of a honey-haired boy in footed pajamas on Christmas with morning light glinting off his glasses. Her smile dimmed as she realized he'd probably had very few joyous holidays. Yet, Daniel's eagerness for life remained despite his unhappy upbringing. It was one reason why he was so good at his job and why the colonel was often irritated with him. Childlike in his enthusiasm to learn, Daniel sometimes forgot his own safety during a mission as if he didn't matter as much as the knowledge. The thought brought fearful clarity. What if that got him hurt or even worse one day? Protectiveness swelled within her. She'd insure he remained unharmed. Daniel was too important to lose. Besides, Sam wanted to be there when he was reunited with a healed Sha're. He deserved it. They all did.

"Should I put these in the garbage?"

Focusing on him, Sam shook her head. "Don't bother. I'll do it later."

"It's no trouble," Daniel said as he dropped empty containers into brown bags, "Do you want the leftovers?" Two of the cartons held remnants of chicken and rice.

"No. They'll probably be growing penicillin by the time I get a chance to have a meal at home again."

"Yeah," he agreed, "it's the same way at my apartment. The only things in my fridge are soda and eggs. I'm not even sure the eggs are any good."

"You don't cook?"

"What's the point when there's only me?" he shrugged. "Besides, that's why God invented McDonalds."

She made a face. "I'd rather eat Styrofoam."

Daniel's mouth opened. How could she not like the golden arches? It was one of his favorite places. "Do you cook much?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I stock up on TV dinners. It's easy to pop them into the microwave."

"Drive-thrus are just as convenient."

"But not as healthy," she pointed out, "and a woman's figure doesn't thrive on fast food."

"There's nothing wrong with your shape," he protested, "nor would there be if you weighed twice as much as you do now. On Abydos, plumpness is a sign of beauty."

"Too bad earth women don't know about it. Abydos could be the new Club Med."

"An off-world lonely hearts club? Spin the ‘gate to meet a mate?" Daniel's grin lit up his features. "I can just see the grimace on General Hammond's face now."

Sam's initial laugh trailed off as reality set in. Hadn't the Stargate brought her the potential for love with Nareem and hadn't she shied away from it again? She frowned.

Uneasiness clouded Daniel's amused expression. He'd tried so hard to erase that look. What had he done now to evoke it? Sudden understanding filled his eyes. "The road not taken," he said softly.

"What?" Bewildered, Sam stared at him.

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." He met her puzzled gaze. "I'm really glad you took that road, Sam. If you hadn't, my hopes of rescuing Sha're would be so much less." His voice dropped to a lower pitch, "and I wouldn't have such a good friend in my life."

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. His admission filled the empty spot in her heart with bright companionship, and suddenly, she was very glad she'd made the choices she had. Her single life suited her. If the right lover came along, she wouldn't mind a change, but Daniel was right. A husband and children would have prevented her exciting journeys through the Stargate. She'd never have known the pleasure of Daniel's company or the colonel's or Teal'c's without being a member of SG-1. "Thanks," Sam whispered, briefly kissing him on the cheek.

"What for?" His blushing face held confusion.

"Taking that road too."

**The End**


End file.
